AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ididn’t give them the chance to exchange more words.GrabbingDadby the arm,Itugged him behind, walking at intense speed toward the car before a fistfight could erupt.
Myeyes paused on those big, inexpressive brown eyes amid the crowd.Themomentary euphoriaIfound and the peacePoppyexperienced was gone.Itwas replaced with the hatred brought on by our families.
Heraccusatory glare bored into us.Dadhad done the unforgivable.Afterwrecking her father’s last moments on earth, he ruined her father’s memorial.
Poppywould never forgive us, andIwondered if we’d ever feel that moment of peace again, the one we experienced while neither of our families was looking.
ChapterFour
DAMON
TragedystruckyoungPoppy’slife once more, a mere sixty-five days after her father’s funeral.
MayaAmbani,Poppy’sgrandmother, passed away.Poppyharbored immense respect for the old lady.Uponhearing the news, she flew toIndia, where the lateMrs.Ambaniresided.
Itturned outIwas addicted to being a part ofPoppy’sworst days in life.Itook the next flight toMumbaibeforeIcould call on my rational senses.
Iwas known to be reasonable and mature.Afterthe quasi-run-in withPoppyat her father’s funeral,Ichampioned several drug and suicide prevention programs.Peopleskewed reality to make it fit their romanticized version.Tothem,Iovercame the loss of my mother and created something meaningful out of it.Aninflux of grateful families dubbed me wise beyond my years and a savior of lost souls.Dadbecame aStageMom, andJordanwas tasked with capitalizing on the momentum.Afterthe embarrassing incident atJayAmbani’sfuneral,Dadbecame obsessed with being affluent so no one could make him feel small again.
Suddenly,Iwas the face of suicide prevention campaigns.Icouldn’t save my mother, yetIwalked around likeIhad the answer.Ihated it.
Icould’ve foughtDadfor exploiting his wife’s death, but my guilt trumped the loathing.Itwas hard not to pityDad.TheAmbani’sbad-mouthed us to their vast network, burying his ambitions six feet under.Nothingmade him particularly important except for his sons’ fame, soIlet him pimp out my cause.Theoccasional article turned into the norm, andIbecame the press’ flavor of the week.
Poppydidn’t regard me as some jewel of the crown, though.Iwas the guy who fucked up the crucial moments of her life.AttendinganotherAmbanifuneral was a terrible idea after what went down at her father’s wake.So, why wasItrolling the posh neighborhood ofColabainMumbai?
Icouldn’t shake her haunted look at her father’s funeral.Itmade me wonder whether she’d do something rash on days she felt the most alone.Icouldn’t saveMom, butIcould ensurePoppydidn’t go down the same rabbit hole.Aselfish part of me also hoped to recreate another peaceful moment for her, one that felt euphoric to share.
Poppy’sgrief seemed to be my calling.Herlife had turned morbid.Thefamiliarity with grief and macabre had no place in a fourteen-year-old’s life.Sheshould enjoy being a spoiled heiress, spending her parents’ money with a credit card she didn’t earn or stuffing her room with pink decorations.
Instead,Poppywas once more accepting condolences, andIhoped to steal a glance through the wrought iron bar gates that stretched toward the sky.
Istood across the street from the lateMrs.Ambani’sresidence.Luckily,Colabawas a touristy neighborhood in a cosmopolitan city, and a healthy mix of foreigners were invited toMayaAmbani’sfuneral.Mypresence didn’t stand out.Deckedin white to keep with tradition,Iadded sunglasses as an extra layer of protective armor.Whenanother horde of guests filtered through the gates,Ifollowed them inside.
Idiscreetly searched forPoppyaround the lavish property.Aftercombing through every room inside and walking around the exterior twice,Ifound the stream at the back of the house.Aspredicted,Poppywas alone by the water.Beingjet lagged from the long journey made her seem like a mirage dressed in all white.Iwanted to tell her there was more to life than sadness.Drillit into her brain so she wouldn’t make a hasty decision.Asthe blazing sun settled over her hair,Iapproached her quietly.Whenthe muscles on the back of her neck tensed,Icrouched behind the trimmed bushes.
Sheheard me.
Likeclockwork,Poppymade no demands on her intruder and returned to her trance, looking out onto the water.Ittook all my willpower not to go to her and comfort her.Historyrepeated itself as we remained dormant while she grieved.Whendusk settled,Iwatched her walk away.
Thewalk back to the hotel was unmemorable.Poppy’shaunted eyes plagued my thoughts that she wasn’t strong enough to handle all this grief at once.Thiswas none of my business.Notto mention, the situation with theAmbanishad further escalated after high society boycottedDad.ItfueledUncleHenry’sambitions.Heused my program to start a competing hedge fund company.Itwas suckingAmbaniCorpdry, just as we predicted.Thingswere about to get worse, soIneeded to stay away from theAmbanigirl.
Ididn’t keep the promise.
Lastmonth,CharlesJamieson, the interimCEOofAmbaniCorp, passed away from a sudden heart attack.Notonly hadPoppylost her father and grandmother, but afterCharles’ death, her future as theCEOofAmbaniCorpwas also in jeopardy.Everythingshe loved and worked for was gone.
Unableto help it,IfollowedPoppyto the funeral.AfterconfirmingPoppywouldn’t throw herself off a cliff,Istumbled upon more disturbing news.Poppy’smother,PiyaAmbani, was remarrying only months after her husband’s death.
Unbelievable.
Poppylost her father and grandmother.AfterCharles’sdeath, her future as theCEOofAmbaniCorpwas also in jeopardy.Everythingshe loved and worked for was gone.Then, her mother got engaged toZaneTrimalchio, a retired musician formerly known asAxel, during his active years in the business.Asa celebrity, his wedding was the toast of the town, with more than six hundred guests in attendance.Iwondered if it was an intentional snub toPiyaAmbani’sfirst wedding.Apparently, she had five hundred guests attend the previous one.Thishad to be a brutal blow forPoppy.
Everytime something terrible happened to her,Iworried it’d push her over the edge.So,Igot myself invited to the wedding.Jordan,UncleHenry’sfiancé and my soon-to-be aunt, was the bride’s best friend and was in the wedding party.Despitetheir budding nuptials,Henryrefused to attend anAmbanievent, andIpersuadedJordanto take me as her plus-one instead.IfIwas reading the situation right,Jordanwas relieved.Iwas even-tempered, and she preferred to avoid making a scene at her best friend’s wedding.Jordanmerely assumedItagged along to network since this wedding was crawling with press, celebrities, and agents.
Igrabbed a pre-ceremony drink and scouted the tented area forPoppywhenIoverheardJordanandPiya.Theywere behind a curtain fashioned to be the bridal room.
“ItoldAxelwe should get married afterPoppyhad time to process, but you know what he’s like.Herefused to hear it.”PiyaAmbani, soon to beTrimalchio, toyed with the edge of her lace veil.Shewore a giant white wedding dress and stood inside a giant white tent. “Thiswas a bad idea.”
“No, it wasn’t,”Jordanreplied without missing a beat.
